


A Study in Pink Pyjamas

by alexxphoenix42



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Christmas Story, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, PJ Party Challenge, Pajama Party, UnlockedCon, cross-dressing, embarassing childhood memories, pink pyjamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxphoenix42/pseuds/alexxphoenix42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock hasn't been a fan of either Christmas or fancy pyjamas for a number of years, but John has a way of changing his mind about things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Pink Pyjamas

**Author's Note:**

> Nods and thanks of course to the lovely scene in that holiday movie classic, "A Christmas Story," when Ralphie is asked to model that horrid bunny suit from Aunt Clara.

+++

“I’m not wearing this.”

“Oh Sherlock, your Aunt Clara always sends you the nicest things. Go put it on, I want to see you in it.

“No.”

“Go upstairs and put it on right now.” Mummy Holmes waved an imperious arm toward the opened gift box perched in her son’s lap.

Fairy lights twinkled charmingly on the nearby Christmas tree and mantle, but Sherlock’s face remained a black storm cloud in the midst of the holiday cheer. He glanced at Mycroft, home from school for the week, but no help was forthcoming from that department. His brother had his nose buried in his new naval history book and hadn’t even bothered to look up. Father was napping at the end of settee, just starting to snore. He gave a small yip as Mummy nudged him sharply in the ribs.

“Sherlock. You are not opening another gift until you go try on those pyjamas that Aunt Clara made you, and that’s final.” Mummy’s expression had darkened to match Sherlock’s scowl.

Sherlock looked longingly at the brightly-wrapped packages still waiting under the tree. He could tell that one contained the new microscope he’d been wanting for ages. Another held a cracking chemistry kit, and the two closest flat ones respectively contained the books on anatomy, and geology that he’d asked for earlier.

“Fine.” Sherlock knew blackmail when he saw it.

He sighed like someone twice his tender age of nine, and grabbing the offending pink garment, stomped up to his bedroom to put it on. The footie pyjamas were hot and scratchy, but at least the front zipper made it easy enough to slip on over his existing faded plaid pj’s.

Bracing himself like some French aristocrat walking his last steps toward the guillotine, Sherlock began his slow descent along the stairs. Everyone in the sitting room was now unfortunately both awake and quite aware as he made his debut on the landing turned catwalk for this forced fashion show. The eyes of each of his family members swung with unerring accuracy to lock onto the pink pyjamas complete with attached bunny slippers, and wire-reinforced rabbit ears curving from the hood that now graced his person.

His mother looked charmed. His father looked horrified, but the malicious delight that danced in his older brother’s eyes signaled disaster if a camera could be located in the next few minutes. Sherlock’s hand had already gone to the zipper, chemistry set be damned, when his father’s voice sailed out over the room.

“He looks like a deranged Easter bunny. It's a pink nightmare.” His father cried. “Are you happy wearing that, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head as vehemently as he could.

“Fine, go take it off.”

Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice. He turned tail, and sprinted upstairs just as the sound of a camera snapping caught his pink feet disappearing to the next level.

+++

“Here, this one’s for you.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock accepted the lightweight package with a smile, not even bothering to shake it to better deduce its contents.

It was special this Christmas. They had known each other for five years now, but this was the first holiday that John and Sherlock were spending together as a couple. John and their not-your-housekeeper Mrs. Hudson had gone all out procuring festive decorations for the flat. Fairy lights, red ribbons, and boughs of evergreen now draped over every available surface of their home. John had even insisted on a small tree, and that was covered in so much tinsel and baubles, it was wonder it was still standing under the weight of all its frippery. Holidays were not really Sherlock's area though, and he hadn’t thought to observe one properly since he’d been a child.

“Do we need all this, John?” Sherlock had complained as he helped John tack up a string of lights around the front windows.

“Well, it’s just that we have so many Christmases to make up for.” John had answered quietly. One look at the weight tugging at the lines on John’s face as memories surfaced of missed opportunities, and that awful stretch of time when Sherlock had been officially dead was enough to cut his grumbling off at the knees.

“Where does the mistletoe go?” He’d asked by way of apology, and hung three balls of the stuff around the flat as John watched on, beaming in approval.

Sherlock had launched his gift-giving campaign to his new partner with perhaps the overzealous fervor of a recent convert, but John wasn’t complaining. He opened box after box of soft cashmere sweaters, new socks, pen sets, and gold cufflinks never once complaining that it was all too much.

Sherlock had dutifully opened his own presents, but had enjoyed the look on John’s face as he unwrapped each one much more than the actual items. John watched him with eyes full of moonbeams, and rainbows, and firelight on smooth whisky. It was enough to make a man drop his bag of lapsang souchong, and pull his lover in for a deep kiss which was exactly what Sherlock did.

“Hang on a mo’.” John smiled as they parted, blushing slightly as he retrieved the last present tucked away at the back of the tree. Sherlock couldn’t help deducing the risqué nature of the gift by the rising colour over John’s cheeks as he deposited the flat box in Sherlock’s lap.

Their love life had been a rare and wonderful thing discovered at middle age. After more than a decade of paying little attention to the whims and urges of his body, the detective had been quite blindsided by one John H. Watson. No one was more surprised than Sherlock at the rising tide of desire that had unfolded between them. John was a sexual being, he knew this, and he had been more than a bit concerned when they had first crawled into bed together.

“John, I’m not sure . . .” He had begun awkwardly trying to broach a subject wide as an ocean filled with sucking whirlpools of painful adolescent groping, and drug-hazed coupling best forgotten from his his uni years.

“Shh. It’s all right. I don’t expect anything. Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine with me. I just want to hold you.” John had said, his beautiful eyes wide as the sky as he’d smoothed a hand over Sherlock’s bicep. He’d lain down, opened his arms, and Sherlock had tumbled in, trusting, and it really hadn’t been difficult at all. Loving John Watson was like breathing, albeit in gasped measures as eager hands held, and stroked, and pushed them into immolating fireworks.

“Well, that was . . . well.” John could hardly speak as Sherlock lay collapsed over him, a pleased, proprietary chuckle rumbling out of him at John’s completely shagged-out state. John had laughed too, and dropped a kiss to the sweat-slicked curls stuck to his forehead. It had been a miracle, a simple miracle finding this oasis together.

They had made a game of it then, uprooting every past embarrassment, every negative body image, or sexual hang-up, and gently finding a way to turn it around, either neutralizing the memory, or transforming it to a shared delight. Sherlock had sucked John’s toes after he had complained about his short flat feet, and John had given Sherlock a series of massages with varying types of oils and creams when he had admitted to feeling too lanky and unattractive while growing up. It had only been a few weeks ago that Sherlock had discovered John’s predilection for seeing him in sexy lingerie. John had gone still when a Victoria Secret commercial came on the telly one night, his eyes sliding over Sherlock’s long legs. The detective had leaned over and whispered across John’s ear, “Would you like to see me in stockings like that?”

If the way John had dragged him to bed soon after his simple question was any indication, John was very much interested in seeing Sherlock dressed like that. Sherlock had gone out the next day and gotten an embarrassing amount of lacy undergarments for John to give a thumbs up or down to, and they hadn’t returned a single thing. To be honest, Sherlock would have been a bit disappointed if John hadn’t gotten him some new frilly thing this holiday season.

With a gleam in his eye, Sherlock tore into the package, pushing back the layers of white tissue paper to uncover the silky outfit within. He pulled the pale pink camisole dripping with lace out by its straps holding it up for them both to view.

John’s eyes had melted to something like liquid lava. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he watched Sherlock lay the garment against the grey tee shirt he had slept in. “Do you like it, love?” John asked shyly.

“Oh, John.” Sherlock purred, only releasing the top to unearth its matching knickers from the froth of white paper. When he pulled out the slinky tap pants slit up the sides and topped with a sweet pink bow, both of their breathing hitched, visions of Sherlock soon-to-be modeling it dancing in their heads.

“What time do we need to be at your parents’ for dinner?” John asked in a husky voice, his pyjama bottoms tenting quite noticeably across the front as he slid a hand to Sherlock’s knee.

“We can be late.” Sherlock let his voice drop an entire octave as he shifted closer.

“Come on you, bedroom, now.” John said taking to his feet, and extending a hand Sherlock’s way. “I think seeing you in that outfit is going to be my favourite present, and I can’t wait to unwrap it.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The answering smile that curled its way across Sherlock’s face was positively predatory.

**Author's Note:**

> This little bit of nonsense was written to the prompt "pyjamas" as part of the Fan Challenge for Unlocked con 2015 - an online, stay-at-home event for those unable to make the Sherlocked con in London. Obviously sitting around in your pj's was an important part of an online con. ^_^
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> [Sherlock's sexy pjs ](http://alexxphoenix42.tumblr.com/post/154896850473/wouldnt-sherlock-look-good-in-these)


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